


Cast Away (And Picked Up)

by Zaxal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, M/M, Other, Pirates, Semi-Public Sex, Temptation, Zine: Love and Lust Through the Ages (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: After being marooned for a year, Aziraphale is rescued and/or captured by pirate captain Crowley. The two make up for some lost time in the captain's cabin.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 122
Collections: Love and Lust Through the Ages Volume II, Top Crowley Library





	Cast Away (And Picked Up)

All told, Aziraphale rather enjoyed his time on the island.

Months ago — a year now, maybe — when he’d been forced from a rowboat into the warm shallows by the mutinous ruffians who had taken his ship, he’d expected to be bored more than anything. And, really, he _did_ miss his growing collection of books and the hubbub of London. He missed restaurants and theatres.

But Aziraphale hadn’t had a break in several thousand years.

He’d gone a little wild, truth be told, and let his hair and beard grow out. His fair skin turned golden, sun-kissed from long, lazy days sprawled on the beach. His wings were often left to spread as they liked, far from human eyes.

A month in, he’d been taken by a powerful urge to drink and stumbled upon a rum-runner’s cache among the sparse trees, and that alone had made the loneliness and distance from civilization easier to endure. It was also, perhaps, the reason he no longer knew the exact date, but Aziraphale nevertheless counted it as a blessing.

He luxuriated in the rush of the ocean over the shore, in the cool sea breeze that ran its fingers through his hair and feathers.

It was idyllic, really, this slice of Eden that had been preserved and set aside, held for him until now. It had been a wonderful holiday, but he was quite ready to get back to it by the time he saw the ship with black sails on the horizon.

Aziraphale wasted no time, summoning a campfire with a billow of dark smoke spiraling towards the heavens. Someone just happened to look towards the island, and they just happened to think that there might be something of note stowed away among the sparse trees. Beyond that, Aziraphale required no magic. After all, for the past six-hundred years, he’d been performing temptations worthy of a demon. It was practically second nature to give a coquettish glance through his eyelashes, to draw in on himself, seeming smaller, more vulnerable. His shirt, torn long ago by the whipping winds of a tropical storm, slumped down his shoulder, and Aziraphale tipped his head just so, exposing his smooth, soft skin as he pleaded for mercy and offered anything in return.

It was a calculated gamble, but these were lonely men months from home whose only company had been each other.

Aziraphale was, after all, quite lonely, too.

Rope burned around his wrists, biting into his tender skin, and the pirates led him with firm, rough hands to the rowboat. “The captain’ll decide what to do with you,” one of the rabble assured him with an appraising eye that flicked in one solid look over the entirety of Aziraphale’s body.

He blushed with a coy smile, averting his eyes before glancing back shyly. “Thank you for saving me. I’m so grateful, you know.”

The crew lashed the rowboat to the ship and hoisted it out of the water and up. Feet pounded along the deck as Aziraphale was helped out of the boat and onto the gentle swaying of the ship. He stumbled, and a pirate grasped his elbow to steady him. Aziraphale could feel the heat of his body, could feel the naked desire burning under every touch, every breath. It paled in comparison to the attention that raked over him a moment later.

“What’s this you’ve brought on my ship, eh?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up, and he dug his teeth into his cheek to keep himself from smiling.

Crowley looked dashing for a demon who had been away from civilization for months on end. His hair was a thick tangle, tied away from his face. A sash slung across his hips, the scabbard of a sword and the holster of a gun settled one on each end. His tunic had a deep neckline, exposing a thin patch of chest hair and a jewel that gleamed like his shades in the sunlight.

He was sneering, but Aziraphale hardly noticed, already thinking ahead. They only needed to put on a show for the crew so that they would be left alone. It was the same dance they’d been performing on a much larger scale since the Arrangement had begun.

Crowley sauntered forward, slow and menacing. His cutlass hissed out of its sheath. The pirate who had helped Aziraphale stepped away, leaving him alone and helpless before the captain of the ship. “You were left on that island for a reason,” Crowley said, voice cruel and uncompromising. “Left to rot, left to die.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as the blade kissed his jaw, pulling his head up. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put you back.”

“I’ll earn my keep,” Aziraphale promised, unresisting. “Anything you ask of me. I—” His breathing shook. The flat of Crowley’s blade skimmed down his neck before he used the very tip to draw Aziraphale’s ruined shirt down, exposing his shoulder and part of his chest. Crowley’s desire washed over him like the tide. “I am at your mercy, yours to do with as you see fit. Your obedient servant so long as I reach Europe alive.”

Crowley gave a sharp smile. “Alive’s not much to ask for. Y’might wish you were dead.”

“As I would if you left me here,” Aziraphale said. Crowley’s lips twitched, parted, a brief look of hesitation flitting over his face. “Please, allow me,” Aziraphale insisted hurriedly before Crowley’s conscience could get the better of him. “Let me be of use to you.” Then, cautiously, “Or to your crew.”

Crowley sheathed his sword only to cross the distance between them in a few quick strides. He grabbed the rope binding Aziraphale’s wrists and yanked him close until Aziraphale could feel the heat off his body. “We’ll see. Maybe if you’re very good for me an’ I’m feeling _very_ generous, I’ll keep you tied to my bed.” He used their sparse height difference to tower, glaring down through his shades. “Instead of feeding you to the wolves.”

He pivoted, shoving Aziraphale towards the cabin before his boots thumped across the deck after him. The door to the ship’s cabin creaked open before they’d even reached it, and Aziraphale hooked his bare foot around the door, pulling it shut behind them.

The lock magically clicked into place, and Aziraphale’s back slammed against the wooden door. Crowley’s fists curled in the tatters of his shirt. In the dark of the cabin, his eyes were completely obscured behind his shades, but Aziraphale could _feel_ Crowley drinking in the state of him the same way he indulged in spirits: quick, hardly bothering to taste before reaching again for the bottle.

“I ought to keep you tied up,” he said finally. “Keep you from wandering off.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said mildly. “If you insist.” He was hardly averse to the idea.

“Next time,” Crowley purred with a grin as the ropes loosened and thumped to the floor.

Aziraphale’s hands found themselves immediately on Crowley’s jaw, pulling him forward into a searing, desperate kiss. Crowley’s lips met his, agile tongue snaking into Aziraphale’s mouth, staking claim as he pressed him to the door, a leg wedged between Aziraphale’s own. Aziraphale rocked against it, leaning into the pressure with a pleasant rut.

“Making an Effort already?” Crowley demanded a moment later, teeth teasing at the column of Aziraphale’s throat as he slid his leg higher. “Satan, you’re gagging for it.”

“Well,” Aziraphale breathed. “I was _stranded_ for God knows how long. I had to keep my hands busy—”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s hips until his weight shifted forward, putting more pressure on the leg between his thighs. “Y’mean to tell me,” Crowley hissed, “that while I was putting together some grand ressscue mission, you were having a lovely time in the Caribbean, laying on the beach and _wanking_?”

Aziraphale flushed, hands skating to Crowley’s shoulders though he didn’t quite push him away. “ _Crowley_ —”

“Oh no, angel. I want _details_. How you spent months writhing on your fingers, waiting for the first ship on the horizon.”

Aziraphale had a particularly good grind against Crowley’s leg, and his head thumped against the door, breath catching. “Please—”

“Pleassse?” Crowley enunciated. His hands slid back and under the waist of Aziraphale’s trousers, cold fingers against Aziraphale’s hot, burning skin as he firmly squeezed. “Please _what_?”

“Stop _teasing_ , you beast!”

Crowley’s teeth sank into Aziraphale’s shoulder, pain aching from the bite down to where Aziraphale’s cock throbbed against Crowley’s thigh until the two were one and the same. His legs squeezed around Crowley’s, hips rutting in quick, efficient thrusts until Crowley pushed himself away.

Cold, lonely, bereft — Aziraphale didn’t _whine_ , but it was a near thing until he saw Crowley’s hand outstretched, waiting for him.

Aziraphale took it without hesitation, and in a single step that really should have taken several more, they tumbled across the cabin and into Crowley’s bed.

The mattress was softer than it had any right to be. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered, a relieved moan slipping from between his lips as he eased into the first touch of comfort he’d had in over a year. Crowley was a warm, welcome weight on top of him, all sharp angles and hard planes contrasting nicely to the plush mattress at his back. They exchanged a few more heated kisses, missing one another’s mouths more often than not, too eager to care about accuracy.

Crowley blessed under his breath and pulled away long enough to strip Aziraphale’s trousers and vanish his own clothes before slotting himself between Aziraphale’s legs again. Aziraphale’s head went back, spine arching as Crowley’s legs slid under his own, pulling his hips off the bed until he was all but in Crowley’s lap. Skin slid against skin, warm and slick with sweat.

“Let me,” he said, reaching for the hem of his own ruined shirt.

“Leave it,” Crowley said, breathless. One of his hand pressed under Aziraphale’s thigh, pushing his leg up towards his chest before pulling it over his shoulder. Aziraphale shivered, feeling deliciously open and exposed.

“It’s in tatters as it is,” Aziraphale insisted without heat, spreading his thighs wider as Crowley’s wet fingers stroked over the pucker of his hole, teasing pets interspersed with gentle prods, dipping just past the rim before pulling out again.

“I know,” Crowley said, his voice thick with desire. Aziraphale’s eyes cracked open, fixing immediately upon Crowley’s face. He’d dispensed with his shades, allowing Aziraphale to see the hunger burning in his eyes, the way they moved over him, restless and ravenous.

The topaz glittered, swinging like a pendulum from the fine chain around Crowley’s neck. 

Without further preamble, Crowley eased one finger into the heat of him, pulling a sigh from Aziraphale’s lips as he turned his head into the luxury of Crowley’s pillow.

“S’a good look for you,” Crowley confessed, lips pressed against Aziraphale’s thigh.

Aziraphale’s chuckle broke on a moan as Crowley sucked a kiss onto the soft skin, gently coaxing with his teeth, always baring a sharp edge without the ill intent to use it. “In your bed?”

“Well,” Crowley smirked. “Yeah. Course. But…” He stroked over Aziraphale’s prostate. Another slick finger pressed in a bit too quick, too eager, the sting aching up Aziraphale’s spine, throbbing through his body. “Your beard, your hair, your clothes — y’look like something wild. Somethin’ _sublime_. Someone should make a statue. Made to be cast in bronze, you were.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” he arched, digging his heel between the blades of Crowley’s shoulders as Crowley diligently fingered him open.

“Mmh,” Crowley hummed, pleased, pressing another kiss to the skin available to him and then another, lips sliding higher with each. “Couldn’t help but notice — looks like your tan’s pretty even, eh?”

“A— ah—”

“Almost,” Crowley smiled, canines glinting in the low light, “like you spent most — if not all — of your little holiday wearing nothing at all.” Aziraphale’s hips jerked, cock bouncing against the pudge of his belly. “What a sssight you must’ve been.” Crowley’s fingers curled right as he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Imagine if they’d found you like that, all sun-drunk and vulnerable. You’d put me out of business. What temptation could compare?”

Aziraphale rocked with the movement of his fingers, breathing harder. Heat pooled in his gut, centering on the incessant throb of his dick. Aziraphale tipped his head back, tension shaking through his thighs, and when it became too much, his hand flew below his waist, fingers wrapping around his aching cock.

Crowley’s tongue struck through the air like lightning, laving up the scent of him, drinking it in. He hissed, “Aziraphale,” and the wrecked, desperate way Crowley said his name sent Aziraphale careening over the edge, cum streaking across his stomach. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, stars dancing behind his eyes.

“Please,” Crowley breathed. Aziraphale managed, slowly, to open his eyes. The light seemed brighter, now, sharper as he looked up. Crowley’s eyes were hooded and dark, intent with something like _reverence_ as his fingers slid free from Aziraphale’s body. “ _Pleassse_ —”

Aziraphale’s heart swelled with fondness. For all his talk — lovely and filthy as it was — Crowley waited with utmost patience for Aziraphale’s permission. Aziraphale’s body was warm, lax, and comfortable from his own orgasm, but he almost always had room for more. He smiled. “Let me have you, dear. I want to feel you.”

Crowley knelt up, cock pressing in, long and lean and _perfect_. Aziraphale moaned, thought about the pirates scurrying about on the ship who had most certainly heard him, and moaned again, bearing down to take more. Crowley blessed as his hips snapped forward, burying him to the hilt.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped, so full, split open, _taken_. “Oh—”

Crowley’s fingers threaded through his own, pulling his hand off his cock and pressing it to the bed. Crowley began to move, slow and sensuous, denying the urgency of his own need. It occurred to Aziraphale then that ‘taken’ wasn’t quite the right word. Rather, he felt _joined_ , connected to Crowley in a way that existed beyond his own expansive vocabulary.

“Angel,” Crowley began not long after, so needy beneath the rough scrape of his voice that Aziraphale had to encourage him.

“Yes,” he said, his free hand smoothing a chin-length wave of hair back behind his ear. “Darling, _yes_. You— Oh, you came all this way for me.”

Crowley’s head fell forward, his bony shoulders flexing, and Aziraphale saw a shimmer in the dark behind him, an unfolding silhouette of his wings. “For you,” he groaned, ragged. Aziraphale’s hand fell to the necklace Crowley wore, pulling it down until their lips could meet. Crowley panted into his mouth, squeezed his hand, and _fucked_ , thrusting hard and deep and desperate. Aziraphale moved with him in a harmonious rhythm until Crowley bucked erratically and came, biting Aziraphale’s bottom lip as he did.

Sometime in the afterglow, Crowley unlooped the chain from around his neck, letting it spill across Aziraphale’s chest.

“S’yours,” he said with a deliberate air of nonchalance. “If you want it.”

“Mmh,” Aziraphale mused, fingers stroking over the jewel as he watched Crowley settle more comfortably into the bed. “You know, my dear — I think I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://zaxal.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/zaxalrie)!


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